Numb3rs Drabbles
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: One fan fic writer.  Too Many Characters.  One Prompt Word.  Fifteen Minutes.
1. Home

Numb3rs Drabbles

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Notes: This is a collection of related drabbles that come from the 15-Minute Challenge at the Numb3rs forums. Each prompt word will be listed as a chapter title, but each drabble will have its own individual title.

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1. Homecoming

Catherine raised her hand to knock on the door and hesitated, then scolded herself for it. _Come on, it's only been six months; it can't be that bad._ But it _was_ that bad, judging from what her brothers had told her. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, recalling the phone call that had summoned her here.

_Mom's not doing well…not with… Did she tell you?_

_Tell me what?_

_Dad was…you didn't hear it on the news?_

No, she hadn't. If she had, she would have flown back home right away. But she was deep undercover, working a drug smuggling ring. She had almost no contact with anyone beyond her handler and her partner; it would have been too dangerous otherwise. As it was, she was gone from her family for six months, and her father had been gone for two. She fought back her tears; she was a trained DEA agent and agents didn't cry, damnit. Her mother said that she was like her father in that aspect. Maybe. _Maybe Uncle Charlie can calculate how much stubbornness is a genetic trait in our family. Maybe he can tell me what are the odds Dad will come back to us. He probably can._

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wasn't how she wanted to come home. On the long nights when she waited for the drug runners to make their move, she dreamed about what she would do when the case was over. Besides getting hours of sleep in a warm, comfortable soft bed without any sort of alarm clocks to bother her or a cocked gun under her pillow, she would get a week's leave, hop on a plane and go home to see her parents and brothers and aunt and uncle and cousins and grandparents. Her mother would open the door and hug her in relief, her father would stroll into the foyer with a huge smile on his face and congratulate her on her first big solve. She would lose herself in the laughter and banter of their family and friends and let herself just be Catherine Sarah Eppes, not DEA Agent Eppes. But that wasn't going to happen today.

She knocked on the door. It felt like forever before she heard the deadlocks being drawn back and the door swung open, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. The second oldest of their three, Nate, stood in the doorway. She forced herself to smile at him, but her lips only twitched slightly. He nodded, understanding why.

"Hi Nate," she whispered.

"Hi Sis," he said, his voice cracking a little, "Welcome home."

She fell into his arms and the siblings clung to each other for a long moment, trying so very hard not to give voice to their sobs. They needed to be strong for their mother while they waited for the day to bring their father home.


	2. Invention

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Notes: Thank you to my readers and reviewers. Unfortunately, my Internet connection has gotten a little unpredictable, so I can't promise when I'll be able to update again. Don't worry though, I've already written a few drabbles that are ready for posting, that is, if my computer will let me format them properly!

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2. Phone Call

She stared at the ringing telephone, making no move to pick it up. The landline continued to warble its all-too-chirpy tone amidst the hum and bustle of the office. The telephone was a wonderful invention: connecting people across vast distances, relaying information in the flash of a second, making it possible for her to pursue criminals wherever they fled. But she didn't want to pick up today. Her stomach, churning since the morning when her youngest brother Matthew had called, twisted into an unpleasant knot as her phone continued to ring. _They gonna do it today, Sis. They're going to tell everyone today._

She had spoken vague reassurances to her brother through the numbness that settled in her mind, _It's__ going to be fine. It's going to be okay. Of course, they'll take every precaution to make sure Dad's going to be fine. Dad's going to come home and he'll be fine. Yeah, I'm sure. Don't worry about it, Matthew. Does Mom know? Don't tell Mom. Matt. Matt! Promise me you won't tell Mom, okay? Promise? Good. It's better if she doesn't know about it until it's over and he's safe. Trust me, she doesn't need this right now. Come on, you know what Aunt Megan said, she's under a lot of stress already. It's been a near miracle keeping her in the dark about this, and we need to keep her in the dark about this, okay? No, you can't…for goodness sake, Matt, just do it. Don't ask questions; just don't let Mom know about this, okay?_

"You going to pick that up, Eppes?" a gruff voice asked from behind her. Catherine jerked in surprise at the sudden intrusion on her thoughts.

"Erm…" she spluttered, her hands twitching in a spasm in her lap. Her current superior looked at her with narrowed eyes, studying her for a moment before reaching over to pick up the phone himself.

"Beauvoire," he answered, "Agent Eppes is busy at the moment. I'm taking messages for her. If it's urgent, I'll see if I can get her on." He paused and then looked at her with raised eyebrows, "Give me a moment."

He held the phone out to her, "It's Acting Assistant Director Reeves from the FBI. She says it's about your father."


	3. Buddy

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Notes: My profound apologies for the delay... I've stopped writing drabbles for the time being, and I have no idea if/when I'll start up again. Anyway, I hope to continue to post for as long as possible.

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3. Bedside

Michael sits by his mother's bedside, watching her sleep on the folding cot. Her sleep is restless, broken by mumbles and shifting and tears that slip out from under her closed eyes. He holds her hand and murmurs quiet words to her, trying to calm her fears.

He glances over at the other bed, and swallows back his bile.

It's been almost three months since the disastrous day when the phone rang in his studio, with Uncle David's solemn voice on the other end of the line asking him to come to the hospital, just as he was about to kiss Melinda, the lovely young woman he had met and dated and was planning to bring home to see his parents that weekend before asking her to marry him somewhere down the line. It had been almost twelve weeks since his mother had been called into the Assistant Director's office and collapsed on the carpeted floor of his father's workplace, half-cradled in Uncle Colby's arms. It's been ninety days since Aunt Megan explained to him and his older brother Nate that their father won't be coming home, that their sister won't be told — _can't be found, I'm sorry_ — and Nate with his impassive expression nods and picks up his hat, the badge of the LAPD shining on it — _look, she's probably working on something we can't know about and—for God's sake don't take it out on Aunt Megan; it's not her call to tell us about it. Listen, I have to go to a funeral later on today, I'm sorry Mike, I'd go with you, but I'm part of the Honor Guard and…Buckman was a brother, Mike. I have to be there. He didn't deserve to die in the streets, not like that. Dad would understand, and so will Mom. I'll be back, I promise, to see them. You take care of Mom now, and I'll be back, I swear. I promise._

And Nate had come back after the funeral for the fallen police officer, changed out of his somber dress blues, and told Mike to _— get home, get some rest, I'll look after Mom. I promise I won't leave either of them._ Even though he was dressed off-duty, Mike saw that his older brother was carrying his service weapon, just like the federal agents' posted outside of his parents' hospital room and around the facilities itself were.

Nothing's changed in the seconds and hours of waiting the family's gone through. His mother, after her shock, doesn't cry, but all of them know she isn't holding up very well with the strain of the protection and the investigation and the threats. His sister, recently come back from her first major assignment, spends all the time she can at the house or the hospital, trying to keep them all sane. His brother does the same thing, looking after him, urging him and his mother to take care of themselves. They want things to be all right, to be normal again. And him?

All Michael wants is his father to open his eyes again, to laugh, to scold, to smile, to tease, to call him, 'Buddy,' to do anything other than lie in a hospital bed, wrapped in unforgiving embrace of a coma. All he wants is his father back.


End file.
